Lost in Translation.

I recently became aware of how much of my waking time I spend thinking and writing in English, even though my native language is Flemish – the variety of Dutch that is spoken in Flanders, the North of Belgium.

I love languages, foreign ones as well as my own, with English as my absolute favourite. They were my favourite subjects at school, and I went on to study linguistics and literature in college.

Belgium is an interesting country to live in for a language enthusiast. It's tiny (about 30,000 square kilometres), has 11 million inhabitants and we have no less than three national languages:

• Flemish (spoken by 59% of the population)
• French (40%)
• German (less than 1%)

On top of that, many people still speak one of the numerous local dialects, which can vary greatly even over a small distance.

Our country is located right in the centre of Western Europe and we're surrounded by countries with a distinct identity, culture, cuisine and language of their own: France, England, the Netherlands, Germany and Luxembourg. Cities such as Paris, London, Amsterdam, Cologne, Bonn and Luxembourg are only a couple of hours away.

This means that, from an early age onwards, most of us come in regular contact with other languages, and – as Dutch isn't spoken widely in the world – we're quickly confronted with the need to learn a language other than our own.

I was raised in Flemish and our local dialect, learnt French and Latin in school, studied English and German at university and took 2 years of Spanish evening classes afterwards.

To me, the biggest benefit of speaking a foreign language is that it gives you access to other cultures in a way you would never get if you have to rely on other people to speak your tongue.

Using the local language – even if you're not fluent – is often perceived as a token of respect for local culture (and its people), and it allows for more personal and often more interesting connections and experiences.

An article I recently read reminded me of another benefit of knowing other languages: it gives access to more shades of meaning, partly through the typical 'untranslatable words' each language has.

Words like the magical Spanish 'duende', the subtle German 'Fingerspitzengefühl', the yearning Russian 'toska', the all-too-human Scottish 'tartle' or the tender Brazilian Portuguese 'cafuné' (see the article) have the power to evoke feelings and memories, to enrich our lives and our way of thinking.

We're diverse and fascinating creatures and our languages reflect that. With each new one we learn, we open up another piece of our universe – and possibly ourselves.

What's your favourite 'untranslatable' word? Which language(s) would you most like to learn?

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Image 1: 'EU-Belgium.svg' - Wikimedia commons
Image 2: 'De liefde in het Duits-Nederlands woordenboek' by marie-ll, available under a creative commons license. © 2006, marie-ll.
Image 3: 'graceful intensity' by Kristy, available under a creative commons license. © 2004, Kristy.

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Poem: 'Fire and Ice' by Robert Frost

Photo credit: Olivier Gruenewald. Wild Wonders of Europe

Fire and Ice



Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost (1874-1963)

Photo credit: Sven Zacek. Wild Wonders of Europe

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Warning: Contains the Word 'Vagina'.

If this post's title puzzles you, go read this article. If it doesn't, I'd still recommend you go read it. It was quite an eye opener for me.

As far as I can tell, the 'tricky words' situation is not nearly as bad here in Europe as it seems to be in the US, but it's good to be aware, and alert.

Some time ago, I wrote about the 'save the words' campaign. Wouldn't it be a shame if the word 'vagina' would become extinct and we'd be forced to use elaborate flowery descriptions instead?

I don't think 'vagina' is a particularly nice or beautiful word, but it's quite adequate for what it's supposed to do: describe a part of our bodies I for one wouldn't like to live without. And the reasons why it's considered a problem word annoy me.

Therefore, to do my bit (no pun intended), I now adopt 'vagina' as my second word, sibling to my other adoptee: 'buffoonery'. I hereby promise I will try to use it more often, in conversation as well as in writing. Providing it fits. No pun intended here either.

If we put in some effort, I'm sure we'll find that, like with most words, the word's connotations are flexible. Maybe we can even turn it into poetry. Almost a hundred years after Gertrude Stein's 'A Rose is a Rose is a Rose', we can write our 2010 tribute.

Say it with me: 'A Vagina is a Vagina is a Vagina.' You see? Easy. The word is becoming more beautiful as we speak.

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Don't be a foppotee, adopt a word now!

Have you ever given birth to a new word? Or considered adopting an old one?

All languages evolve, which is a good thing. Unfortunately that also means that older words that are perhaps no longer relevant fade away and die. It makes perfect sense, and yet it's a shame. Those old words are often rich in connotation. They talk to us about times long gone and places we've never visited.

Oxford Fajar, a subsidiary of Oxford University Press and one of the oldest publishing houses in Malaysia, has started a campaign to 'save the words'. Their website - even though a bit too busy for my taste - is full of words that are literally screaming to be rescued from the dreary pits of oblivion.

Every single word in their collection represents a story, a setting, an era, a character or any inspiration you could possibly need. On top of that, knowing some of these words has to come in handy one day, be it to characterise a person in a novel or story or as a random interjection into casual conversation. And I haven't even touched on the insult potential! Your cocktail parties will never be the same again.
Here are a few suggestions:

• 'odynometer': an instrument for measuring pain. As in: 'I had to stop talking to him because my odynometer overloaded.'
• 'frutescent': having the habit or appearance of a shrub. For example: 'You, Sir, are without any doubt the most frutescent person at this party.'
• 'tortiloquy': dishonest or immoral speech. E.g. : 'I applaud the crafty tortiloquy in your inauguration address.'

Okay, your turn now:

• 'foppotee': a simple-minded person.
• 'aquabib': a water-drinker.
• 'theomeny': the fury of God.
• 'recineration': the second time a thing or place is burnt down.
• 'agonyclite': a member of a heretical sect that stood rather than kneeled. (I'm not kidding...)
• 'rhodologist': a person who studies and classifies roses.
• 'stiricide': the falling of icicles from a house.
• 'dodrantal': being 9 inches in length.

Don't miss this opportunity. Adopt your word today and help it to a new and meaningful life.

What do you think mine is, by the way? The first one to guess right will get a star role in one of my next posts.

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